Coloring
by varietyofwords
Summary: Chuck and Blair. Post-finale. Oneshot. My response to the prompt for Day Six of Chair Week. "Coloring? Isn't that what babysitters do?"


**Author's Note:** This is my response to the prompt for Day Six of Chair Week on tumblr, babysitting.

* * *

He strides past the secretary, ignores her protests and squabbling as he pushes open the heavy oak door and strides into the office as if he owns in the place. In a way, he does and he is not about to let some frumpy woman – his niece-in-law's choice, no doubt – tell him where he can and cannot go. He has had enough of that in his life, thank you very much.

His nephew seems unperturbed at first, hunched over his desk as though he is hard at work examining the latest numbers for the business. His gaze is focused on the paper in front of him; his hand is wrapped firmly around his writing utensil making dark lines on the paper. The intruder advances towards the desk, affords himself a better view of just exactly his nephew is up to.

"Are you coloring?"

The question is bitten out, spoken in deep amazement. His nephew glances up from his masterpiece, coolly greets the intruder without answering his question and without pausing his artistic expression. The picture – a black and white outline of the robot from the latest animated movie to hit theaters – is half colored it, a smattering of purple in the lines and red outside the lines.

"Hello to you too."

Before he can answer his question, before he can come back with fighting words of his own, the sound of a toilet flushing echoes in the room and distracts them both. There is a brief pause before the sound of water running, before the door to the bathroom reserved just for the CEO opens.

"Daddy," a small voice bays from the doorway. "I can't do my belt."

The gaze of both men is adverted to the source of the voice, to the sight of the little boy with eyes focused on the hands fumbling with his Italian leather belt. His father pushes back his chair in an inaudible call for the little boy to walk over to him for assistance, which the little boy does whilst still fumbling with the contraption around his waist.

"Say hello to Uncle Jack, Henry," his father bids as he straightens the belt and feeds it through the loops of his son's pressed pants.

"Hi," Henry demurely replies as his eyes sweep up to look at Jack before falling back to watch his father's skilled hands. No matter how hard he tries, he can never quite get the belt to go through all the loops without becoming twisted.

When the belt is securely in place, he climbs up into his father's lap without invitation and perches himself on one knee. Henry likes sitting here, likes sitting behind Daddy's desk because Daddy is important and Henry is too. His father twists the chair so they spin back into place, and Henry picks up his red crayon to continue coloring the picture. He pauses, decides to move from the robot's arm to his head, and then begins enthusiastically coloring with immense concentration.

"Did you need something, Jack?" His father asks he picks up his own crayon, as he continues to coloring the robot's leg purple.

"Is that what the CEO of a major, multi-billion dollar company does all day?"

His father pauses, calmly sets his crayon down on his expensive desk before his voice dips low in warning as he repeats his earlier question of what exactly Jack wants. Henry's eyes sweep from his picture to watch the exchange between his father and uncle.

"Blair's got you on babysitting duty, huh, Nephew?"

Henry opens his mouth, begins to protest that he is not a baby when his father's deeper voice cuts him off.

"I'm not babysitting," Chuck icily replies.

"Coloring?" Jack goads with a knowing grin. "Isn't that what babysitters do?"

"No," Chuck informs him. "It's what fathers do."

Jack mulls over the correction with a face baring no emotion, watches as the little boy reaches up and tugs on his father's lapel until Chuck dips his head low enough that Henry can whisper directly into his ear. A small hand is held in front of his face so as to block Jack's view of what he is saying, and eyes dart to his face to make sure he does not understand. His father nods, smirks when Henry pulls away.

"And Henry wants you to know that he's not a baby."

The little boy gives him a satisfied smirk before turning his attention back to his coloring page. Jack searches for a comeback because he hates to lose, especially to a three-year-old. Yet the door to the office is ripped open and heels clack against the hardwood, effectively silencing Jack in the exchange.

"Mommy," Henry greets happily as Blair glides towards the desk.

Her husband stands, lifts the little boy up in the air in the process, and holds him against his hip as he moves around the desk to greet her with a soft kiss. The little boy exchanges arms, gets a hug from his mother before he is placed back on the floor.

"Hello, Jack," Blair greets without a trace of animosity or affection. She holds her hand not out to him but out to Henry, holds his hand tightly in hers as she prepares to leave again.

"Blair."

"I'm taking my wife and son out to lunch and then taking off the rest of the day to spend with them," Chuck informs him as he reaches across his desk and locks his computer. "If you need anything, don't call."

Chuck places his hand against the small of Blair's back, sweeps her out of the room as she guides Henry out in front of her as he tells about sitting in Daddy's chair and helping Daddy's secretary staple reports for the big meeting tomorrow. And then he pauses at the door, glances over his shoulder at the man left standing alone in his room.

"Jack, call Georgina."

The older man scoffs at the suggestion because there is no way he is about to call her. He is Jack Xavier Bass. He does not call women, does not come crawling to them. Women call him; women bend over backwards to catch his attention.

"She has a kid. So what?" Chuck snaps. "Stop looking at Milo like you're babysitting. If you want her, you'll want him just a much."

His nephew turns away, heads out to join his wife and son as his uncle's eyes sweep to the abandoned crayons and coloring page on the desk in front of him. The door shuts with a firm click but not before he hears his niece shriek in disgust.

"Don't encourage that! It's gross and disgusting and a – a sin against God!"


End file.
